Yesterday, I went on a tourist boat ride up the Bhramaputra river heading upstream from Dhaka (previously misidentified as the Bariganga; the Bariganga can be seen my previous posting about the tour through old town). This was your typical tourist trip complete with large, comfortable boat, lunch on board, and a couple of cultural stops. Rich and I have been on several of these (it seems like we go on one on every trip). So, I was expecting the usual mix of tourists - a couple on their honeymoon, the flatlanders, some Japanese, and a lone German. Don't ask me why, but these trips ALWAYS have that mix. I am not sure why I had that expectation, since every single Westerner I have met here is here for work or is married to someone who works here. As it turns out, we did have the lone German. I am not sure why he is here (his English wasn't great). As for the others, they were a mix of diplomats from various countries, a water engineer from the UK working on a World Bank project, a woman here as a part of the Southern Baptist Mission, and her mother. Her mother is the only other westerner I have met that is here on a visit. Due to this mix and the personalities involved (those over educated, gregarious, and crazy enough to agree to live in B-desh for a while), the conversation on board was more like a party in Cambridge, MA than typical tourist chit-chat.
The boat ride was a lovely break from the congestion, smog, and noise of Dhaka. This branch of the Bhramaputra is wide and slow moving - and teeming with life. The villages tapered off as we moved north, giving way to larger plots of farming or large industrial sites. In just a short ride up the river, we saw a brick factory, cement, sugar mill (under construction), and several sand harvesting units. For the majority of the trip, we were greeted by villagers who were washing clothes, bathing, and playing in the river. (Friday is a weekend here.) I am not yet sure what percentage of the greeting waves and shouts were friendly, but I chose to let ignorance help me believe they are friendly. There are, of course, some universally understood gestures and signals that are unambiguous. Given the almost universal nature of merchant mariners, we saw several such gestures from the commercial shipping vessels that passed us by. (Friday might be a weekend and the day for prayer, but industry comes first here.) It was a stark reminder of how women, especially white women, are viewed in this culture.
We stopped to view a Rajibara, a landowners house from the time of British rule. It was built in 1901 and is practically in ruins. Our guide told us it is now used as a government university. However, I saw no signs that might indicate its use for anything. The only people there were regular army and what appeared to be squatters (only women and children at that). There are no pictures of the army, per request. The owner of this house was an employee of the local British viceroy. He was Hindu - most Hindus left the country during the separation of India and Pakistan that occured when the British left. The grounds have a private temple, bathing pools for men and women, and a large courtyard in the middle of building that has what would have been a beautiful puja (shrine for a chosen deity).
The trip ashore afforded my fellow boat riders a chance to break the ice. The woman from the German embassy quized me on my opinions of Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama (she would vote for Hillary if she could). The water engineer from the UK comiserated with me on living in the countries with the two highest tax rates (according to him anyway, I have no idea if that is true. I always thought Scandinavian countries won that honor). He also went on about the government surveilence programs and the Blair government. The US embassy doctor cheerfully chatted with everyone, regardless of English ability.
Back on board, the water engineer explained that he is here working on a World Bank project to improve water supplies to Dhaka. Despite the fact the Bangladesh is situated on the largest river delta in the world, it faces a significant clean water problem. The list of primary problems is almost endless, the two biggies are: naturally occurring arsenic and poor water treatment/sanitation. The problem of naturally occurring arsenic is shared with several sites around the world, including somewhere in Argentina (another place he's worked). According to him, scientists in Inda have just announced a groundbreaking way to use coconut husks to filter out arsenic. It is cheap, easy, and sustainable so it give some hope for Bangladesh. The problem with proper sanitation is a harder one to fix. Water engineers have to work on many angles, not the least of which is to educate locals on the dangers of mixing sewage and clean water. (Don't get too high and mighty, westerners figured this out only a couple of hundred year ago.) A bigger problem is how the quaity of the water that reaches Dhaka. The sand harvesting units I mentioned earlier dredge the river bottom, pull up sand, and drain the water back into the river. (The sand is then shipped back to Dhaka at the port from which we launched.) As you can imagine, that stirs up a lot of silt. You can see the silt in the water near these units. The silt creates problems during treatment because it clogs the filters (a simpletons way of putting it). Another problem is the industry on the water. Every factory we saw was dumping waste water directly into the river. (It is now time to get right off that high horse because we still haven't totally fixed this one.)
An even more sobering thought is that these water purification efforts are concentrated on Dhaka. The villagers who live on the river pull the water directly from the river. They have no treatment plants.
A more cheerful stop was to a small village that specialises in fabric weaving. The trip brouchure and the guide emphasized that this village hand weaves traditional Bangladesh muslin saris that are prized for their quality. That is certainly true. We "toured" the factory (one small room) and they demonstrated the weaving technique. It is very intricate. While one of my compatriots asked about child labor, I can say that there were men of all ages (only one female) and only one person looked to be 12-14 years old. These workers also make about double the salary of the garment workers in the factories in Dhaka. What is also true is that this village has at least two automated weaving shops. I know because they were running while we were there. From what I gathered from the guide, the handwoven saris are sold in exclusive shops and through special order, mostly for weddings and other special occaisons. He did not speak of the automated looms, but my assumption is that those are for mass consumption - and tourist sales. I am almost certain that the wrap I bought came from one of the automated looms. Which is fine - and exactly what you would get from a similar place in the US.
Overall, this was a lovely tourist trip with all the trappings of tourist boat trips the world over, just without the tourists.
Once we arrived back at the Guide Tours office in Dhaka, I was back in the hectic crowd and stare world of the Deshis. As I waited for Randy to pick me up I was quickly surrounded by beggars, rickshaw drivers, and CNG drivers all hoping to get some of my business. Not only was Randy on his way, but I have decided that I am covered by the embassy ban on rickshaw rides for employees and family. Sure, it's the scaredy-cats way out but I'll take it.
We ended the day at a nice Korean restaurant. The highlight of the meal was one of the many tasty bits that were offered to us to start the meal. Amongst the expected kim chee, teriyaki, and other pickled items, we received an elegantly presented treat. It was some sort of glutenous mass shaped into a heart. The waiter called it, "vegetable mayonaise salad". Hesitantly, we all tried it. We're pretty sure it was potato salad.
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